The lush greenery of Cornwall stretched before Anthony Bridgerton like a pastoral painting brought to life. The air was fresher here, untainted by the smog of London, carrying with it the faint scent of wildflowers and salt from the distant sea. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to admire the rolling hills and vibrant villages. It reminded him, in some ways, of Aubrey Hall, though there was a simplicity here that the Bridgerton estate lacked.

As the carriage slowed to a halt in front of a modest yet charming townhome, Anthony's thoughts shifted to the task at hand. The house, belonging to Penelope Featherington's maternal grandaunt, stood as a beacon of the solitude Penelope seemed determined to preserve. Yet solitude was not something Anthony could allow her – not when the Queen herself had decreed their union.

He stepped out of the carriage, his boots crunching against the gravel path. With a decisive knock upon the door, he waited, his gaze fixed forward until it was met by the confused expression of Penelope's lady's maid. After a brief exchange, he was led into the drawing room, where the formidable Aunt Petunia awaited him.

The elder woman entered with an air of authority, her russet hair streaked with silver and her sharp eyes assessing Anthony with the precision of a hawk. Her simple yet elegant gown suggested she was a woman of practicality, one unaccustomed to frivolity.

"Your lordship." She greeted with a curt nod, her voice carrying the distinct cadence of Cornwall. "What brings the Viscount Bridgerton to my humble home?"

Anthony rose from his seat, bowing politely. "Madam, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Anthony Bridgerton, Ninth Viscount Bridgerton. I have come to Cornwall seeking Miss Penelope Featherington."

Aunt Petunia's brows lifted, her piercing gaze narrowing ever so slightly. "And what business might you have with my grandniece?"

Anthony clasped his hands behind his back, the weight of her scrutiny pressing upon him. "I have urgent matters to discuss with her." He began, his tone steady despite the tension. "Matters that require her immediate return to London."

Petunia's expression did not waver, though her lips pressed into a thin line. "I am afraid Penelope is not at home. She has gone to the village to procure some necessities."

For a moment, Anthony's heart sank, disappointment flickering across his features. But before he could voice his concern, Petunia continued, her tone softening slightly.

"Fear not, my lord. She will return shortly."

Relief washes over him, and he exhaled audibly. "I thank you, madam. I shall wait for her here, if that is agreeable."

Petunia gestured to the chair he had vacated. "You are welcome to stay, though I must admit, I find it curious – a viscount travelling all the way from London for a Featherington girl." She settled into her own chair, her sharp gaze unwavering. "What, pray tell, is your true relation to Penelope? And why is it so imperative she return to London? I am under the impression Portia had already agreed for her to stay here for the entire year."

Anthony felt the prick of cold sweat at the back of his neck. The woman's penetrating stare was as effective as any integration. But Anthony Bridgerton was no liar, nor did he wish to deceive this woman whose approval might well influence Penelope's decision.

"I shall be frank, my lady." He began, his voice firm. "I have come because I intend to court Miss Penelope. I wish to marry her before the season's end. To do so, she must return to London."

Petunia hummed, leaning back to her chair as she studied him. "A bold declaration, my lord. And yet, I find myself skeptical. Penelope has never been the object of such attention from any man, let alone one of your standing. Why now?"

Anthony opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, the door to the drawing room burst open with a resounding thud.

"Lord Bridgerton!" Penelope Featherington stormed into the room, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming in quick gasps from what appeared to have been a hasty journey. Her red curls framed a face that was equal parts astonished and exasperated. Her bright blue eyes searched the room until they locked onto his. "What, may I ask, are you doing here?"

Anthony rose from his seat, his composure unshaken despite the fiery entrance. "Good afternoon, Miss Featherington." He greeted, inclining his head. "I have come to fetch you."

"To fetch me?" Penelope repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. She turned to her grandaunt, her hands clenched at her sides. "Aunt Petunia, you allowed him in?"

Petunia shrugged, her expression betraying no particular sympathy. "He is a viscount, Penelope. One does not turn away a peer of the realm so easily."

Anthony took a step closer, his gaze steady as he addressed Penelope directly. "We need to talk."

"I cannot imagine what there is to say." Penelope retorted, folding her arms. "Whatever it is, I assure you it could have been said while you were in London, my lord. There was no need for you to come all this way."

"On the contrary." Anthony countered, his tone resolute. "There is every need. And I will not leave Cornwall until we have had our conversation."

Penelope stared at him, her lips parting as if to argue further, but she seemed to think better of it. With a sharp exhale, she turned on her heel. "Very well. Aunt Petunia, if you will excuse us, I shall entertain his lordship in the garden. It seems this discussion requires more air than this room can provide."

Petunia nodded, her gaze flicking between the two with interest. "As you wish, my dear. Do try to keep it civil. We wouldn't want to give the servants anything to gossip about." Her twinkling eyes suggested she rather hoped they would.

As Penelope swept from the room, her back rigid with barely contained fury, Anthony found himself wondering if facing the Queen's wrath might have been the easier option after all.